Flock of Golden Memories
by FullMetalPon-3
Summary: When Prussia is met with an untimely death, Germany must continue on without his awesome big brother. However, when stories from the other nations come to light, he begins to find out just how many skeletons Prussia hid in his closet.
1. Chapter 1

_Prussia scowled at the colony collapsed before him. "Hah! Some big shot you are! You declare independence from the biggest empire of all time, but you can't even run twenty miles straight?!" He knelt and grabbed his tawny hair, forcing his head up. "Get up and finish!"_

 _The colony turned his glassy gaze to Prussia. "Can't…" America barely managed to rasp. His eyes looked like they were threatening to close. "It's so hot…"_

 _Prussia rolled his eyes and let go of America's hair, allowing his head to fall gracelessly back into the dirt. "You think you can become a country like that?! Kesesese! You're making me laugh right now! You're just a little baby who grew up too fast!"_

 _America, trembling slightly, raised his head, his eyes tired but tinged with anger. "I'm not a baby."_

 _"Oh, did I hurt the wittle baby's feelings?" Prussia taunted, delighted that he'd struck a nerve. He shoved down on America's head with the heel of his boot. "Wa, wa, is he going to go crying back to big brother Britain?"_

 _"He's not my brother!" America snarled, pushing himself up and nearly throwing Prussia off-balance. "Not after what he did in Boston! I'm going to show him I don't need him!"_

 _For just a split second, Prussia found himself lost in America's bright eyes. 'They're so blue…' He felt a surge of protective instinct wash over him, like there were reasons for doing this besides getting back at Britain. Then the Germanic nation chuckled. "Well, you have to show_ me _first! I think we'll add another ten miles to your run today!"_

 _America's face fell. "What?!"_

 _Prussia examined the jeweled hilt of his sword lazily. "If you have the strength to question me, you probably have enough in you for another five…"_

 _The blonde gaped in horror, then turned tail and started running. Prussia chuckled. 'He's strong. I think he can do it.' He gazed after the colony as he continued across the prairie. 'I'm never be so unawesome that my little brother will think of me like he thinks of Britain.'_

…

G7 meetings sometimes ended chaotically, but this was something else entirely.

Germany was aware of Britain standing nearby, frantically calling 911 and telling them their location. He was aware of France staring with horror at the person clutched in his arms. He was aware of Italy sobbing a few feet away while Japan and Canada did their best to calm him. He was aware of America ripping the door off the car that had been responsible for all of this and throwing the terrified driver out.

He was aware of all those things, but he was only focused on the broken body resting in his arms, shiny white hair stained scarlet, red eyes half-open, and hands that were cold and getting colder.

"Come on, big brother," Germany muttered, rubbing his hands over Prussia's, desperately trying to keep them warm. Maybe if they didn't get cold, he'd be fine. Maybe that would work. "Don't close your eyes."

Prussia's dull gaze drifted to Germany, and he gulped, as though trying to get some air into his lungs. "W-West…"

"Don't talk," Germany commanded fiercely. Maybe if Prussia reserved every bit of his strength, it would be enough to hold him out until medical help arrived.

"'S okay…" Prussia continued, ignoring him. "You're here…"

Germany tightened his grip on his brother's hand. If Prussia wouldn't stop talking, at least he wouldn't fall asleep. "Why…" Germany choked. "Why didn't you tell me…?"

Prussia grinned, and though it looked pained, it was genuine. "Your expression… pfft, you look like a worried mother bird…"

A pang of white-hot rage went through Germany. He felt so angry he wanted to bash his older brother's head in the asphalt for being annoying and stupid at a time like this.

"I wonder if…" Prussia breathed out, his eyes slowly closing. He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence, as the ambulance pulled up alongside the curb and two paramedics jumped out, pulling a stretcher along behind them.

Germany heard one of them command him to do something, but it was just noise. Britain shook his shoulder, and he realized she was asking him to let her and her partner take Prussia from his arms, which he immediately obliged to. He watched as they loaded him onto the stretcher, but it wasn't until they began to hook him up to all kinds of machines in the back of the ambulance that he came to his senses once more. "Please…" he begged the paramedics. Why was articulating so difficult right now?

"I'm sorry, sir, but we can't have anyone accompany us," the paramedic said, not lifting her eyes from her work. She reached for the door. "You'll have to come to the hospital in your own car and go to the waiting room." She slammed it shut in his face, and Germany was left staring at the back of the ambulance as it drove off, sirens blaring.

"Germany?" someone whimpered. He turned to see Italy watching him anxiously. "Oh! Oh, Germany… Your clothes!" He looked down and realized he was covered in blood. Normally, appearances were very important to Germany, but now was not a normal time.

"America," Germany turned to the blonde nation, who was currently holding the trembling driver of the attempted hit-and-run by the throat. "Get me to the hospital right now."

America didn't even miss a beat, dropping the piece of scum to the ground. "My car's parked behind the building. Follow me," he said, his voice completely absent of its normal cheerfulness.

…

Germany stared forward, his icy blue eyes fierce yet unseeing. How long had he been in this hospital waiting room? The walls were painted blue and pictures and paintings hung on the wall in a failed attempt to make the place marginally more cheerful. Every second here was an eternity as an onslaught of varying emotions raced through his head. Worry, fear, restlessness… rage. They continued pounding at his skull with no sign of stopping.

Looking around the lobby for something to distract himself, he focused on a painting in the corner. A serene little cottage in the middle of a grassy field with flowers. He felt sick just looking at it. He didn't really want to talk to the remaining members of the G7 present, so he just stayed silent. If only Italy were here; the southern nation had done his best to stay with Germany, but eventually had fallen asleep, and Japan had volunteered to take him to the hotel they were staying at.

Germany grabbed the cushion of his seat so hard he thought he was going to tear it with his nails, and he was so tense that when a hand touched his shoulder, he nearly punched its owner in the face.

A familiar face with glasses and blue eyes was staring back at him. Normally, this person had a huge smile seemingly plastered on at all times, but right now it looked strained. "Hey, Germany," America greeted. "I'm going to get something to eat. You want me to pick you up something, too?

"'M not hungry," Germany shook his head.

"Aw, c'mon, dude," America gently argued, speaking at a normal volume. For him, that was practically under his breath. "You've been here for ten hours, and you don't want to eat the cafeteria food. Even I know it's garbage."

"I don't want anything."

America sighed. "At least let me get you some water."

"I don't want any," Germany said, ignoring how thick and swollen his tongue felt. Even as he turned away from America, he could still feel the country's gaze on him. And then America did something that genuinely surprised all the nations present; he sat down next to Germany. He didn't touch him again or get close (contrary to what many nations expected, America was not a very touchy person); he didn't even say anything. He just sat next to him and placed his head in his hands. The gesture brought a warm feeling to Germany's ribcage, and he began to feel a little more hopeful. America's doctors were well-trained.

"Um, Mr. Beilschmidt?" Germany looked up at the surname and got to his feet. It was the surname Prussia had chosen long ago and that Germany had adopted as well.

A doctor stood in front of him, a somber expression on his face. "I'm sorry. We did everything we could…" Germany's heart stopped. "There was too much internal bleeding and he'd lost too much blood by the time he got here."

"No, no…" Germany murmured. The world seemed to be distorting itself, as if responding to the impossible thing that had happened moments ago. The lights were warping, and the walls seemed to be losing their color. A nation dying didn't make any sense at all.

"I'm so sorry," the doctor repeated, sounding as thought he was speaking from thirty feet away.

Germany felt very light-headed, and he was aware of the floor suddenly coming up to meet his face, just before a pair of arms caught him.

Everything was black, and the world must have ended because there couldn't possibly be a reality in which the world continued to go on after Prussia was gone.

…

Over the next few days, Germany felt like a ghost. Someone had arranged a funeral (likely Hungary or Austria), and thus, many nations were gathering in Berlin for a few days. All around him, countries bustled, reciting meaningless words such as _"I'm so sorry for your loss"_ and _"If there's anything I can do to help"_ ; words which meant nothing to him. One country in particular seemed to be going out of his way to talk to him.

"Hey, Germany, dude," America greeted. "Italy told me you haven't eaten today, so I'm taking you out, my treat!"

Germany did his best not to roll his eyes. What he did and didn't do was nobody's business, especially America's. "I'd rather not."

"Aw, what?!" America's voice was so grating. Why couldn't he learn to shut the hell up? "When someone offers you a free meal, it's not polite to refuse! Unless it's Britain. Besides, we're at your place! You can eat that sausage you love so much!"

Somehow, Germany ended up in a restaurant with America, who was drawing lots of attention to himself with his loud attitude. He didn't seem to mind. When a plate of Wurst was finally set in front of America, though, Germany couldn't help but scowl at his table manners.

"Why don't you try chewing your food, instead of inhaling it?"

America replied without bothering to swallow. "When I was being trained to kick Britain out, I had, like, three minutes to eat breakfast or else I went hungry the whole day."

"You should have gotten yourself a better mentor," Germany muttered, glaring at his napkin.

America laughed. "You kidding?! He was the best! His training was like hell, but I was able to become independent because of him!" America's voice became low. "Yeah… Prussia really was an awesome guy." Germany looked up, eyes wide. America had stopped eating and his expression was one of sorrow. "If the meeting wasn't at my place that day, he'd still be here."

The G7 meeting… that seemed like an eternity ago. Prussia had burst in, loud and teasing Germany before he shooed him out, telling him he wasn't supposed to be interrupting important business. It was only a few seconds later they heard the screeching of a car in the street just outside and had come out to the most horrific sight most of them had seen in a while.

It wasn't just sorrow displayed on America's face, but guilt as well. "That wasn't your fault," Germany told him. "Prussia wasn't supposed to be there in the first place."

"But… it was one of my citizens that hit him," America started. "And the doctors couldn't save him." He bowed his head. "I'm so sorry, Germany."

"That's not something you were supposed to control," Germany countered. "If I didn't move on from that way of thinking, how would I be able to live with myself after World War II?" America's expression seemed just a little less somber. "You trained under my brother?" Germany asked, changing the subject. How had he never known this?

America's huge grin was present, but his eyes were distant. "Yep! In the 1770s! Surprised you didn't know about it!"

"Well, I wasn't created then," Germany replied, before realizing his mistake.

America gaped. "Wait a second… I'm older than you?" He looked positively gleeful. "Hahaha! I'm the older, more mature one here! Hahaha!"

"Shut up," Germany growled, annoyed. "Seems eating fast wasn't the only bad thing you got from my brother."

As America continued to tease him, Germany suddenly realized how thirsty he was, and for the first time in days, he had a nice long cold drink of beer and a huge plate of Wurst.

 **So… Hetalia. That exists.**


	2. Russia

_Prussia braced himself, preparing to push himself up to grab the wire at the top of the wall, when something embedded itself in the concrete next to his hand, causing him to lose balance from surprise and fall heavily onto the cold, wet street. He landed on his back, causing the air to come out of his lungs, and banged his head on the ground. His ears were ringing, and he saw stars, but somewhere in his mind he realized that the thing that had hit the wall had been a bullet._

 _A chill went through his body as he suddenly became aware of a presence. Prussia's eyes traveled up the Stasi uniform to meet the face of the person who was responsible for all this pain and suffering, responsible for separating him from his brother._

"Dobryy vecher _," Russia greeted. He looked like the picture of childlike innocence, and the only thing to mar that image was pistol pointed directly at Prussia's skull. "Why are you in such a hurry to leave, Prussia? Don't you know it is rude to walk out on a guest?"_

 _Before the end of the war, Prussia had never taken Russia seriously. Sure, he'd acknowledged that the country had grown up into a force to be reckoned with, but he'd laughed when Japan was paranoid enough to try to assassinate him, or that whiny Lithuania was always trembling around him. All that Prussia could think of was all the pranks he and the Nordics had played on him while crusading._

 _There was the time he had taken the northern nation and strung him up like a piñata from a tree. His little baby face turning red like a beet from the blood rushing to it had been hilarious. Or when Denmark had snuck a bear into his house. The sight of him rushing out of the cabin in terror had made Denmark and Prussia collapse from peals of laughter._

 _He wasn't laughing now._

" _Just trying to get some beer from my brother for you," Prussia offered, sarcastically. "His place makes much nicer stuff than this shithole."_

 _Russia closed his eyes and his grin grew larger, clearly amused at the insult. "Hehe, you should be nicer to me." In one smooth motion, Russia stomped down on Prussia's outstretched arm and to keep from screaming, Prussia had to clench his teeth so hard he thought his jaw was going to break. He would not give Russia the satisfaction._

" _Do you feel this?" Russia asked, shifting his weight to crush Prussia's arm even more. "I am doing this because you are like a cockroach. No matter what happens, even when you are dissolved, you refuse to die. You cling onto whatever baseless hope you have left." Russia gestured to the Wall, the Wall that was keeping Prussia away from Germany, that was keeping so many families away from each other. "After everything you and your brother did, I'm still letting you keep your life. Be grateful."_

 _Prussia would rather die a million times over than live with that Wall for one more day. And of course, Russia was lying. None of the Allies had fought that war without ulterior motives, but Russia's motives of expansion had never really been all that ulterior in the first place._

 _Prussia really couldn't see an end to this. Maybe he never would see Germany again... Then he grinned, showing off a dazzling smile that hadn't changed at all in nine-hundred years. "My little brother's waiting for me, and that's what's keeping me around. I don't owe my life to anyone as douchey as you."_

…

Normally when most of the nations of the world gathered into one place, it was noisy beyond all belief. Everyone was yelling at each other, either because of current issues or past skirmishes, to the point where fistfights often broke out.

Today was not a normal day. Everyone present was sitting quietly in the rows of chairs set out, some dressed in fine suits, others in military uniforms. It wasn't as though there was no tension between the guests; it was just very subdued. There were several possible reasons why: maybe because there was a small number of human guests who shouldn't get caught in the middle of three-hundred-year-old quarrels, or because the nations were suddenly very aware of their mortality, or perhaps some of them genuinely were in mourning. It was hard to stay.

When it was time to give tributes, France and Spain got up there, as was to be expected, talking about the "awesome pranks" they had played on people with him. America, naturally, told about how Prussia had made him into a "hero". Hungary came up and told a few stories that she probably shouldn't have in a church. One by one, many other nations gave their tributes, and the last one to gather up the courage to saying something was… Italy.

"Um…" the southern nation said, seemingly a little nervous to be in front of all these people. "The first time I met Prussia, I didn't know what to think of him … He reminded me of someone I couldn't save when I was little and being around him made me angry at myself. Even after he helped me get my home back from France, I didn't want to see him." Tears started forming in the corners of Italy's eyes.

Italy rarely spoke of his past love to Germany. The only thing he would say was that even though he didn't love him the same way anymore, he still missed everything about him. Germany had asked Hungary about it once, and she had simply told him that Italy had tried to stop him from destroying himself and had failed.

"But, then I met Germany much later… And once I realized how-" Italy choked back a sob. "How Prussia had taken care of the most important person in my life…" Italy was trembling, and Germany wondered if he should go up there and get him. He didn't, though, because he wanted to hear what he had to say. "And I-I don't think I could ev-ever thank him enough for that." He bowed his head and left the podium. For once, Germany was pretty sure he was crying as hard as the Italian was.

With the tributes finished, the nations stood up as one and gave their military salutes. To anyone who didn't know exactly who everyone was here, it would look very uncoordinated, but Germany knew that all of them were giving the highest respect they could to the fallen nation in their own unique ways, and he appreciated it.

…

Germany stood at the site of the grave. He'd visited here every day since the funeral, and he would continue to do so until his boss ordered him to stop.

His brother's body was here, six-feet underground in Stahnsdorf Cemetery. Even though it was covered by heaps of flowers and flags, Germany was very aware of the fresh dirt that had been dug here. In some part of his mind, he was expecting Prussia to pop out of the ground to scare the living shit out of him.

Instead, someone else came.

"'Gilbert Beilschimdt; forever in the hearts of all of Germany," a soft voice, dripping with false reverence, read off the grave marker. "It's funny how everyone is a saint after they die."

Germany turned around to someone he very much had not wanted to see today. "You shouldn't be here," he told the terrifying being.

Russia smiled his childish smile, a smile that hadn't changed in all the time Germany had known him. He gestured around the graveyard, stretching as far as the eye could see with gravestones. Prussia's stood out as the only one with his flag, though. His former flag. "This is public place. I have a passport and am in this country legally," Russia replied, patronizingly. "Even though I am used to it, it is so cold of you to not let me see him off. After all, we knew each other for a very long time." Russia's voice didn't exactly change, but it had a hidden edge to it.

A hot feeling of pain rose inside Germany's chest. Even though the older nation was a bit taller, Germany stepped closer to him, staring harshly into Russia's maddening purple eyes. Russia did not react.

"You… you're responsible for this," Germany hissed. He stepped even closer to Russia, his voice rising along with the pain in his heart. "You dissolved him! You left him vulnerable! If it weren't for you, he'd still be here!"

Russia regarded him the same way one might react to a child of a business partner; with thinly veiled disinterest. He pushed Germany aside easily and approached the grave. He didn't touch it or do anything else, just stared at it. "I defended myself when you broke our agreement and attacked me. I joined the Allies and we defeated you. We all decided you needed punishment for what you did, and we split you two apart. How was I supposed to know what would happen?" Russia's tone told Germany that he very much had known what would happen and had looked forward to it immensely.

"You tortured him," Germany said, marching to the side of ex-Axis Power. "He wouldn't tell me what you did to him, but I saw. I saw what you did to East Berlin; what you did to my brother!"

Again, Russia didn't react, not even turning to look at him. "I kept him alive. The other allies didn't care about him, not Britain, nor America, nor France. I was the only one who decided he was worth my time." Russia looked up to the sky, which, despite the forecast calling for clear skies, had begun to turn dark and foreboding. "You were the one who wanted him back. You were the one who took his body from him and made this happen, not me. You could have given him half your body like the Italies, but you didn't." Germany's jaw clenched at the mention of the brothers. He wanted Russia to stop talking, but he was only saying things that had been echoing through Germany's mind for days. Even though he knew his boss was the one who decided that and he couldn't have gone against him, he had wondered if he could have been more aware.

Russia didn't stop. "He said that you loved him, but I only ever remember seeing you scold him and telling him to mind his own business. No wonder he didn't tell you what was happening to him." The icy cold nation turned smoothly and began walking towards the gate of the graveyard. "He probably through you would be happy."

' _I just kicked a little twerp's ass today! Soon he will feel the awesomeness of Catholicism with my boot in his face! Stupid, giant-nose, scarf-wearing douche!'_

Germany's eyes widened. He remembered being very young and hearing Prussia telling him about invading the east.

"You didn't do it to punish me. You've always hated him, haven't you?" Germany called after the departing nation. And finally, finally, Russia did react. He stopped dead in his tracks. "He used to bully you when you were little. And he was mean and hurtful… but you... you couldn't get over it, could you? And you responded with outright cruelty."

It was nearly impossible to see, but the tiniest of tremors went through Russia's shoulders, though Germany wasn't sure if it was from fear, sorrow, or barely suppressed rage. He turned around, still wearing that infuriating childish smile.

"Children… are incredibly interesting creatures" Russia stated. "Their actions don't hold any malice and yet they are capable of causing unimaginable pain." Russia's grin dropped. "Which is why you are wrong: I did not do it out of a grudge, I returned his cruelty in kind." Germany stared after Russia, his eyes burning.

Russia paused one more time before reaching the gate. "About everyone being a saint when they die… They say that the deepest pit of hell, where Satan himself is chained, is reserved for those who betray their friends. If that is true, from the moment of our creation, we are all destined to rot there."

 **Honestly, I felt a little nervous writing about the Berlin Wall. It really didn't fall all that long ago, and it's so horrifically sad. I can totally understand why Hidekaz has never written about it, so I tried to be vague.**


End file.
